The Misadventures of A Dwarven Woman
by bayumlikedayum
Summary: Balin's daughter Lori joins the company to prove her ability as a warrior, but accidentally attracts Kili's (unwelcome) attention as well. Blinded by her prejudices and pride, Lori must learn to accept Kili for who he is, rather than who everyone else says he is (and do it while battling goblins, spiders, etc.) Having Bilbo as her sidekick doesn't really help, either.
1. The Hole

**A/N;** Short chapter. Don't worry, there'll be more VERY, very, very soon. Like, tomorrow.

**...**

**Chapter One:**

**The Hole**

One hole, two hole, three hole. Round yellow door, round red door, round green door—

Round green door.

And there, just on the bottom, there was a sign scratched into the paint. If she wasn't mistaken, that was Gandalf's sign.

"Da, I've found it!" She called over her shoulder.

_Knock, knock. _

No answer.

_Knock, knock._

No answer.

_Knock, knock._

Footsteps sounded on the steps leading up to the porch of the hole and she heard her father's voice behind her.

"Lassie, did ye not bother to check if there was a doorbell?"

"Why should I, when there is a perfectly sound door for me to knock on?" She replied quickly, if a bit sheepishly. She might as well have told him that she hadn't. So, with his customary kind smile half-hidden underneath his long white beard, he leaned past her and pressed the perfectly round button just next to the freshly painted door. The bell rang inside.

"Either way," she bluffed, "I could hardly be expected to appreciate the sophistication of a doorbell when we have been travailing through the wild—"

The door swung open rather abruptly and there stood a rather peculiar creature indeed. He was very short, even by dwarven standards. His tousled chestnut hair was rather curly and he was in an alarming state of undress in only his striped pajamas and his quilted dressing robe.

"Balin, at your service." Her father bowed slightly with his arms spread wide, as if to say _Here I am! _to the world. This was his customary greeting and nothing out of the ordinary.

She followed Balin's suit and introduced herself – "Lori, at your service," with a nod (but not a bow. The strange thing standing in front of her hardly seemed deserving of one) – even though the creature – _What was he called again? Hobbit, habit, rabbit_? – gaped at them with such surprise that it seemed as though he thought that _they_ were the strange ones without proper clothes on and not _him. _

"Good evening," he said abruptly. She thought then that perhaps he was as uncivilized as he was indecently dressed. _Good evening indeed. _

"Yes, it is," Balin agreed, hardly phased, stepping through the door that the odd little creature had left gaping open. "Though I think it might rain later... Are we late?"

"Late?" The creature asked, his eyebrows raising and his eyes squinting suspiciously. "Late for... what?"

But there was no answer. Balin had caught sight of his balding brother Dwalin inspecting a glass jar in the parlor and had burst into chuckles, forgetting to answer the questions of his reluctant host. But Lori was still staring at the thing in front of her. Her father had learned (with age) to accept the stranger persons of the world. But she had not. Not yet.

"I say, old boy," she said slowly as she stepped past him, giving him one last look. "Hadn't ye better get dressed? Ye don't want _him_ seeing ye like that or he'll never take ye seriously at all!"

Not that she ever would either, now that she'd seen him having company to supper in his pajamas.

She left him sputtering behind her – "_Him_? Pray tell, who is '_him_?!" – and stacked her weapons next to the door. After all, it was hardly polite to eat at the table of a stranger with your sword still girded on. This done, she shed her cloak and stepped into the parlor where her uncle and father had just finished greeting each other with the customary insults and headbutts, ignoring the – hobbit? habit? rabbit? ... _thing_ – as he leaned outside to check if anyone else was coming. But any thoughts of the oddness of her host disappeared when her uncle caught sight of her and laughed.

"Brother! Ye may 'ave gotten more ugly since last I saw ye, but ye lassie! Why, she is even more bonnie than her mother!"

"Uncle Dwalin!" Lori greeted her uncle with a warm smile that crinkled her eyes. "I see ye've gotten balder!"

"Ach, lassie, ye laugh on! Wait until ye've lived as long as I have and then see if ye've got any hair left to ye either!"

"Forgive me for my teasing, Uncle. I'd forgotten just how ancient ye really are." Her eyes twinkled with mischief and her uncle growled with mock disgust, but his lips were twitching with an ill-disguised smile.

"Excuse me!" Said the hobbit or habit or rabbit or whatever he was called. "Sorry, I hate to interrupt but. You see. The thing is. I'm not entirely sure... you're in the right house."

"And what other house would we be in, aye?" Lori asked him as her father and uncle turned to the pantry that Dwalin had only just discovered.

"Uh. Well. I. Perhaps. Uh. A house that belongs to someone you, uh, know?" The hobbit-habit-rabbit squeaked.

She looked at him as though he were daft and turned to help her kinsmen, leaving the poor halfling feeling as though he were indeed as strange as she thought him.

Dwalin and Balin, having wasted no time, had produced two mugs from one of the various cupboards. Dwalin was filling his without particular restraint while Balin was investigating the food in the enormous pantry.

"It's not that I don't like visitors!" The daft hobbit-habit-rabbit continued. "I like visitors as much as the next-"

But no one was listening. His speech fell on deaf ears as Dwalin finished with his mug and started on his brother's and Balin discarded a slab of cheese that looked to have gone moldy and Lori investigated the state of the dining room.

And then the doorbell rang.

There was a pattering of feet and then the squeaking of the door as it opened. A murmuring of voices commenced for a single moment and then one sentence rang out above the mumblings of Dwalin and Balin and even disturbed the flustered silence of their odd, barely dressed host: "You must be Mister Boggins!"

**...**

**A/N;** Leave a review on your way out, let me know what you think so far! Next chapter will be MUCH, much longer, no worries. :)


	2. A Throng

**A/N; **Updating two days in a row?! WHAT IS THIS NEW DEVILRY. One does not simply update two days in a row... Well, at least, I don't. Anywho. I hope you guys like this chapter! I snuck a reference to the book in there. Like, three times. ;) But anywho. Review, please! The reviews from the chapter before were absolutely phenomenal! Shoutout to: **Typewriter101**, **Spirit Kiss**, **LalaithElerrina**, **CP2girls**, **AusisWinds-13**, **A Happy Reader**, and **Grade. **! :)

To **A Happy Reader** (my guest reviewer): What can I say? I guess great minds DO think alike! :)

Oh! And one note: Yes, I know that Bilbo's name is not hobbit-habit-rabbit, but it's an odd little title and I think it fits him. :) Also, Lori doesn't know what he's called yet (she's quite forgotten whatever Gandalf said it was) so that's what she's taken to calling him in her head. This will stop soon, I promise. :)

Also, I'm writing short chapters because, well. I know that I'll be updating frequently and I know that I don't want to burn up my muse, so I'm taking it slowly. Also, the well-told stories are always the best. :) Hope you guys enjoy the chapter! Drop me a review after you're done reading, please? :)

**...**

**Chapter Two:**

**A Throng**

There were a few stamps on the wooden floor that sounded like thunder, then squeaks of alarm that sounded rather like: "My mother's ... Not do that?!"

What an odd creature.

His dining room was hardly any better than he was. There was a strange cabinet full of plates. Why would he put plates on display? Didn't he know that plates were supposed to be _used_? And not only that, but why in Durin's name would you _ever_ have a pantry that is bigger than your dining hall? His was more like a closet or a cupboard than a hall...

He was a silly, nonsensical little thing. And the plate cupboard would have to be moved. A throng of dwarves would hardly fit even with the room cleared, let alone with a _plate cupboard _blocking their every move. Yes, it would have to be moved.

"Now then, lassie, how goes it?" Her uncle's burly voice rumbled in her ear.

"We'll have to move this," she said, pointing to it with mild distaste, still not entirely sure what the point of it was. Dwalin simply rolled his eyes and nodded as if he had come to expect nothing less of their strange little host.

"Fili, Kili! Come on, give us a hand!" Dwalin clapped an arm around Kili and led him to the cupboard, Kili making delighted noises of greeting all the way. For a single second, his eyes lighted on Lori before she turned to give instructions to her towering uncle.

"Let's shove it in the hall, else we'll never get everyone in."

Her only impression of him was that he had no real beard and that was all the better to see his bright and delighted smile. And then behind him, there was a smiling dwarf who had dimples and (unlike his brother) a very full, bright yellow braided beard. Then the hobbit-habit-rabbit came behind, awkwardly standing to one side and looking thoroughly ridiculous in his dressing robe with weapons strung all over him and a belt swinging around his shoulders.

That is, if he didn't look ridiculous enough already.

There was a loud bang on the door and the dressing robe scurried off, flinging weapons everywhere and screaming about how there was nobody home.

"Lassie, direct Fili and Kili to the ale and then find the mugs, if you please." Her father rushed past with something like a mountain of plates in his arms.

Ah. So the plates had been freed from their captivity in the cupboard, then.

Lori turned to comply, but nearly ran headlong into the two brothers, who were standing in front of her and grinning.

Odd blokes, weren't they.

"My name's Fili-"

"And I'm Kili-"

"AT YOUR SERVICE!" And they swept an identical bow.

"Aye, aye, lads, and I'm hungry. Get a move on with ye then. There's ale to be had."

They followed, the darker of the two protesting that she had a very odd name for one so fair—

Odd blokes indeed. The numbskulls.

Soon enough, there were dwarves bustling around the little hole and grabbing food here and there and everywhere and silverware was being set and—

The hobbit-habit-rabbit was _still_ in his dressing robe.

"I say, laddie," Lori said with concern as she rushed past him to get the mugs all filled as Kili and Fili took their sweet time about getting the last of the barrels set up. "Hadn't ye better get dressed? I ken understand the need to be comfortable while greeting ye guests, but dining without clothes on - it's jes' not done!"

Not that there would be any food left for him to dine on. But that was for him to find out.

When she next saw him, he had shed the robe and was pulling on suspenders, but had not bothered changing his pajama shirt. He was probably too concerned with the well-being of his cheese – Bombur, of course, had probably never heard of a cheese knife in his life and was carrying around three large blocks – and Grandma Pearl's rocking chair – Gandalf, as he claimed, was an old man in need of a little extra comfort (not that he would have fit in it anyway without an expanding charm... or two) – and his mother's old chair – "It's an antique! _Not for sitting on? _Put it _back_!" – and his tomatoes, which he wrestled over with Ori for a good five minutes before Gandalf finally intervened and made Ori relent (even though Bofur promptly swindled said tomatoes as soon as the halfling had turned his back.)

But still. At least he had donned some proper trousers; dwarves didn't approve of eating without your trousers on.

And he was surrounded by a throng of them.


	3. Supper

**A/N; **Hello, lovelies! I'm back! Updating three times in a week is a new record for me, so you guys should be proud! Next chapter we get Thooooorin! ;)

A HUGE shout-out to: **Lalaith-Elerrina, AusisWinds-13, CP2girls, HeadbangGirl, Spirit Kiss, ber1719, Grade. , Guest, Black Wolf-Dog,** and ** . .Tattoo**! The reviews that I got were SO phenomenal and they just blew me away! You guys are the reason I keep updating so quickly! Haha.

I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Please, do me a HUGE favor: drop me a review and tell me what you think! It will take like two seconds and I REALLY appreciate ALL the feedback I get. Sorry for the lack of review replies this chapter, but it's quite late where I am and my dad's rather anxious for me to get off the computer. Ah, parents. (Also, things will pick up once we get on the road. Promise!)

I just realized how many exclamation points I used. Hahaha. Anywho. Read and review? :)

**Chapter Three:**

**Supper**

The ale ran out before supper had even started.

Luckily, Bilbo had another barrel, which Fili and Kili very cheerfully volunteered to fetch. Then they returned only a few minutes later with a problem.

"We got lost..."

"Ach," Lori said as she abandoned helping Gandalf with the cutlery. "It's a good thing ye have a map to help ye find the mountain: ye'd end up lost in the middle of a forest otherwise!"

They grumbled, but it was all in good fun. When she asked them if they needed help finding their way back, they looked at each other questioningly for a moment. The answer was obviously yes, they needed help but they said no, our fair lady, go back and enjoy yourself while the lads do the heavy lifting—

She smiled brightly in amusement at their manly pride and they broke off whatever they were saying rather abruptly for whatever reason. Kili nearly knocked over a barrel when he tried to lean on it with his elbow. Fili nearly fell flat on his face while trying to find a pose that showed off his beard to the best advantage. She walked off laughing and muttering about not being sure whether or not "anyone will survive the quest if ye will be there to bumble along—"

Anywhere you turned, you knocked into someone: Gandalf was setting the table, Dori was holding his own company of cellar assortments of tea, wine, and miniature cups – "Can I tempt you with a cup of camomile?" – Bofur was attempting to snitch some cheese from Bombur while he was setting the plates on the table and Bombur was loudly insisting that the only way Bofur was going to get some of his golden blocks was if Bofur found a cheese knife to cut some off! (Since Bombur never used a cheese knife himself, Bofur argued that this was a rather ridiculous stipulation.)

And then there was Gloin fetching the rest of the food and Nori deliberately standing behind Gandalf just because he thought it was funny whenever Gandalf turned around and almost tripped over him. There was Bifur wandering around shaking his head and muttering, as was usual. The hobbit-habit-rabbit had caught onto the fact that Bofur had stolen his tomatoes and had begun to fight over them with whoever had the courage to eye them. Everyone else wandered about aimlessly once their jobs were done.

And then supper was called and everyone was seated, only to remember that their mugs hadn't been refilled yet. There was mass confusion for a few seconds and a few yells of: "GET OUT OF MY WAY!" before—

"No, no, I'll get it!" Fili cried, jumping up and walking across the table. The halfling nearly fainted.

"You'll scratch it – that table – fifty years old – NOT DO THAT?!"

"Well," Lori said to her father, who was seated next to her. "Ye reckon he'd have somethin' to say if he saw _our_ table?"

"Lassie," Balin said with a chuckle. "It's best to not think of the things that give ye headaches."

Their table had been chopped in half straight down the middle during a obstacle training accident with an ax in the kitchen. They still used it.

(When the halfling found out a few months later – which he eventually did – he rolled his eyes and muttered something about the hopelessness of dwarves.)

There was merriment to spare, of course. Perhaps somewhere in the middle, the halfling gave up on ever reclaiming his food, although he still did groan in despair when Fili returned and walked back across the table to his seat, handing an ale to any who lacked (or didn't lack but wanted) one. His boots nearly ended up in the food with every step he took.

It really was quite good. The dwarves had a theory that the more you spill, slop, fling, and throw during dinner, the more delicious it will be. While they may or may not have been correct, the food provided by their unwilling host was the best they'd had in a few months.

The halfling was somewhere in a corner, sulking over the loss of his food. The dwarves reckoned that they had done him a favor, really: his food would have gone bad sooner or later and they were simply doing him the courtesy of eating it all before that happened. They were really being quite polite, when it was all taken into consideration. Anyways. If he wanted something to eat, he could always grab something from the table. It was, after all, his. There was no reason to sulk.

Of course, this was the dwarven point of view, and it was highly unlikely that the halfling was content to go hungry and be deprived of his fish supper, which Dwalin refused to stop blabbering about, even with his mouth stuffed with taters.

"T'were so succulent, the meat came right off the bone and the flavor—"

"Aye, Uncle: a flavor of lemon and sage and just a dash of green. Ye have told us many times now."

"Eat ye food afore it spoils, lassie!"

"I'll eat me food if ye stop talking about ye appetizer!"

There was laughter. Dwalin waved it off with a chuckle, swallowed, and dove back into the food in front of him.

Oh, the food! What food! Red meat and white meat and carrots and sweet taters and tomatoes and pies and seed cakes and chips and white onions and Bombur's cheese and oh, the list went on and on and on and each dwarf ate until he could eat no more. There was the regular belching contest, of course, and it was a sign of great prowess that Ori could manage the longest and the loudest. Perhaps he was so proud of his accomplishment because it was the one area where he truly excelled. Either way, it was a compliment to their host (or, more likely, his food and ale) that Ori managed to hold one for over three seconds.

Not that the halfling saw it as such.

Once the food had been finished, Fili immediately asked where the bathroom was, seemingly rather determined to mark the area with his scent. When he emerged, there was a stench and the plumbing was admirably clogged. Not that this was a rare occurrence in the dwarven world. On the contrary. It happened every day to the dwarves with admirable gestation.

It was something to be praised if they stopped it up at least three times every week.

Fili's clogging was fixable. It would take a few minutes, but it was easily fixed.

"Out of the way, laddie," Dwalin said. "Let a grown dwarf show ye how it's done."

From the moment that Dwalin entered until at least four hours after, it was suffocating to even go _near_ the bathroom. The plumbing would have to be replaced.

And the halfling's voice rose higher and higher and higher until finally, he was squeaking whenever he talked.

"NOT a dish cloth – IT'S CROCHET – THESE _**DWARVES**_!"

"My dear Bilbo, what on earth is the matter?" Gandalf asked innocently, as if he didn't perfectly well know.

Bilbo? _Bilbo_? What was a _Bilbo_?

What a strange name for a creature.

"The carpet – the pantry – the _**bathroom**_!"

Well, perhaps it fit: a strange name for a strange creature.

He had been rather reluctant to accommodate them, which was very odd indeed for a host. In the dwarven culture, it was an honor for someone to share his home, his hearth, and his food with strangers. The hospitality of the dwarves (mostly towards other dwarves) was well-known.

"Da," Lori said softly, so that the Bilbo didn't hear her. It was, after all, rude to discuss your host. "Are ye quite sure he's right in the head?"

"Lassie... I don't think he's ever been _quite_ right."

Nothing else really needed to be said.

The dwarves had taken quite a liking to their host, however, rude and odd as he was. Ori took the trouble to approach the Bilbo when he was still squeaking at Gandalf in his unseemly, jerky way.

"Excuse me. I hate to interrupt, but. What should I do with my plate?"

Lori stood up to head for the kitchen.

It was time to clean up.


	4. The Blunting of the Knives

**A/N;** Happy one-week-anniversary! Haha. I sound like I just got my first boyfriend. Anyways.

Shoutout to (and replies!) tooooo...

**Spirit Kiss**: OHHHH MY GOODNESS, the Misty Mountains song gives me the chills every single time I hear it. Not to mention Richard Armitage... ;) haha!

**Lalaith Elerrina**: Dwarves WOULD still use a table that's been chopped in half! Hahaha!

**CP2girls**: Thank you! :) I wanted to write this story mainly because I couldn't find a story that exhibited what I felt like was the real viewpoint of the dwarves. I'm glad you like them!

**Littelots**: Definitely! When I first saw the movie, I couldn't decide whether I liked Fili or Kili more. I eventually figured that you can't like one without liking the other. :)

**AusisWinds-13**: Didn't I tell you I was on fire with the updates? Haha. It's crazy. I can't stop writing! I absolutely adore Fili and Kili and Bilbo. And Balin and Bombur. And Ori. And - okay, maybe I live them all haha. But I hadn't found any fics that talked about how the dwarves saw Bilbo (realistically) and I wondered how it would be. Thanks, love! :) the thought of my writing inspiring others to write - there's no greater compliment. So thank you! :)

**The. Girl. With. The. Crow. Tattoo**: Thank you! :) Like I said, I want her to w an actual dwarf, and the dwarves are awesome, so... ;) lol just kidding! I want her to be a part of the company, though. That's my focus right now. If she comes out awesome, well, that's perfectly fine with me! :) haha.

**e1nav57**: Oh, I wouldn't say that she's necessarily mean... :) She's a bit more snarky than the other dwarves (and rather mischievous, as you'll see in this chapter) but she's got her soft spots. :)

**Grade. A. Gen**: I laughed when I read that you laughed about the toilets. I really did. Even if I was a little pissed at you at the time... O:) I love you! (Oh. And don't start back on the Sims until after you've read this! Haha.)

NOTE TO ALL: Hola! So I changed a few things from the last chapter. I know that at the ending of the last chapter, Ori asked Bilbo what to do with his plate spontaneously, the way it was in the movie-verse. And then I started thinking about blunting the knives and bending the forks – and I realized that I had an opportunity to explain it! So I ran with the idea. I'll go back and edit the third chapter to fit, but I decided to go ahead and put my changes in this update as a sort of prologue to the chapter so that you, my dear reader, don't have to go back and forth between the chapters. :) Anyway, this chapter is my head-canon of the song and how it came about.

Oh. And the reason I'm calling Bilbo "THE Bilbo" is because Lori thinks it's such a strange name that she decides that must be what species he is (hobbit, dwarf, elf, etc.) because she really can't even figure out what he's supposed to be called (as exemplified by the hobbit-habit-rabbit business) and so therefore, he's "the Bilbo." :)

I'm sorry for the shortness of the chapter, but I felt like that was a good place to end it. The next chapter will have to be much longer, since it's going to cover the arrival of Thorin until Bilbo's faint.

Seriously, guys, the reviews are helping me more than I can say. I had a confidence attack about my writing last week (just ask my best friend haha) and the reviews really helped me. So, please, review! It helps me get inspired to write and update more quickly. And I absolutely LOVE hearing what you guys have to say about what you think of Lori and my depiction of the dwarves and Bilbo! So, please, review and let me know what you think! (It doesn't have to be anything long.)

Anywho, I shan't keep you any longer. I hope you enjoy the chapter! :)

**...**

**Chapter Three:**

**Supper**

While the BIlbo's squeaking and squealing was all very amusing (once you got used to it), Lori found herself wishing there was a way to show him it could be much worse. At least they weren't ruffians, at least they weren't intentionally breaking the dishes that he had put on display—

A wicked grin suddenly appeared on her face.

"Aye, laddies," she said, low enough that the Bilbo couldn't hear her from where it was still panicking at Gandalf. "Do you remember the Song for Dís?"

A ripple of chuckles echoed through the group gathered. They had just eaten; they were just as ready for some mischief as she was.

"Aye, lassie." Bofur agreed, a smile starting to show on his face as well, understanding exactly what idea she'd had. "The one where—"

"Aye, aye," she said quickly before the Bilbo could hear his voice and assume he was breaking something again.

Once upon a time, a very long time ago (or perhaps not so long), the dwarves had gathered together to celebrate the birthday of Dís, Thorin's sister and mother of Fili and Kili. For whatever reason, they had decided to play a prank on her and the song that had resulted had no real name, so they had just called it the Song for Dís.

It went something like—

"But, lassie, are you sure that Bilbo can handle it?" Gloin asked uncertainly. "He does seem rather... unstable."

"Aye, I think it ken. And besides, the dishes need to be washed..."

The dwarves around her all shared a grin.

"We'll think of it as his welcome to the company," someone murmured with a delighted chuckle, and Lori found herself staring into the dark and glimmeringly mischevious eyes of Kili.

"Aye!" She smiled at his way of thinking and when he smiled back broadly, she realized that he must have been hankering for mischief just as much as she had.

Bofur took charge very quickly.

"You know the opening, 'blunt the knives?' That could be the cue. I'll say it when he starts complaining."

"Aye, I'm sure the Bilbo will say that exact phrase if we start bashing the cutlery together," Lori chimed in.

They all enjoyed a good prank far too much.

**...**

**Chapter Four:**

**The Blunting of the Knives**

"Excuse me. I hate to interrupt, but. What should I do with my plate?"

Ori's pipsqueak of a voice (conveniently piping up just when the Bilbo had stopped complaining to draw a breath) was no accident. He had been sent, as ominous as that sounds.

Although, for the Bilbo, perhaps it was a bit ominous.

And then the Bilbo's eyes widened and his mouth opened and close a few times, quite like a fish struggling to breathe. He had just realized that his beloved dishes needed washing. _Washing._ That entire hoard of dishes needing _washing_—

"Here you go, Ori, give them to me." Fili, who _happened_ to walk in at the _exact_ moment he was supposed to, grabbed the plate from Ori and threw them to his brother, who threw to Bifur, who was waiting at the sink and ignoring the Bilbo as he squeaked something about West Farthing pottery being one hundred years old. Bofur, Dori, Nori, and Lori had set up a rhythm by scraping forks and knives together and stamping their feet on the wooden floor.

"And can you not do that?!" The Bilbo squeaked in exasperation. "You'll blunt them!"

And that wasn't on accident either.

"Did ye hear that, lads? He says we'll _blunt the knives_..." Bofur said.

That was the cue.

It was Kili that began the song, Fili that continued it, and then the rest joined in very merrily.

_Blunt the knives and bend the forks!_

_Smash the bottles and burn the corks!_

_Chip the glasses and crack the plates..._

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_

_Cut the cloth and tread on the fat_

_Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!_

_Pour the milk on the pantry floor!_

_Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;_

_Pound them up with a thumping pole_

_And when you've finished, if they are whole,_

_Send them down the hall to roll!_

_That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!_

Somewhere in the middle, Bofur had found his clarinet and was playing the tune, accompanied by Oin (who had somehow managed to convert a tiny teapot into a musical instrument) while Dori drummed on the tabletop with his hands and Lori kept time with her feet, stamping on the wooden floor in perfect sync with Dori's beat.

Plates flew through the air and were redirected by elbows and heads and feet. Bombur cleaned off the plates as efficiently as any dishrag. Gandalf was at first quite taken by surprise by the whole ordeal, but he quickly got out of the way and laughed along quite merrily. Balin still sat at the table with a rather dreary expression, as though asking himself how in Durin's name had he expected any less than an after-dinner prank from his daughter.

If he had voiced the question, she would have replied that she had no idea what he was referring to, since she had _only_ assisted in clearing the table...

When the music ended and the dwarves stood around, quite breathless with laughter at the reaction of their host, the Bilbo pushed through the crowd, his face aghast, as though he quite expected for all the threats in the song to have come true. Alas, they had not: he was confronted only by a mountain of clean dishes stacked on the tabletop and the remnants of the merriment of the dwarves (who, of course, still thought themselves quite amusing.)

But everyone stilled immediately at the sound of three sharp knocks on the emerald door of the hole.

Gandalf's eyes widened.

"He is here."


	5. Fetching Posies

**A/N;** I realize that some people are going to think that Thorin is AU, but he's not. Everyone seems to think he is stern and forbidding and terrible, but watch his facial expressions and you will see humor and a little disparagement in these scenes. Not open mockery, as so many other stories say. If you still think he's AU, that's cool. I'm just letting you know. He's not _actually_ like you read about him in the other fics.

Speaking of meanness. Lori is a bit… catty in this chapter. Only a bit! And she does feel bad for it. But it kind of had to be said, and Bilbo WAS being an idiot… And she might apologize. Someday. Might. Possibly. Maybe not. We'll see. (Spoiler: she will.)

Also, I realize that this might be a slower pace for some of you. I know that the common trend in these fics is for Kili to notice the girl and start oohing and aahing over her beauty immediately and then he starts getting mentioned over every other dwarf and she sits next to him at every single gathering because there always HAPPENS to be an empty seat right next to him and then they end up professing their love before Rivendell… That's simply not how I do things, though. I always try to write realistically, and I believe that any real attachments are formed with a gradual slope of feeling, rather than an instant attraction and then an obsessive infatuation and a lot of sitting next to each other.

Also. A description of Lori IS coming. Be warned that you may or may not like it. I will only say that I am sticking as closely to the genius of Tolkien as I can, as I am only a writer who is writing about HIS creation, and I therefore have no right to change something that he deemed fit to create. I just don't think it would be right to say I'm a fan and then try to change it. If you're not okay with this, well... Take it up with Tolkien, I suppose. (Good luck with contacting him...)

Also (again with the also, haha). I apologize for the lack of happenings in this chapter. It's difficult to fit any sort of character development into the discussion about the Lonely Mountain. But, I promise you, AS SOON AS we get on the road, things will get MUCH more interesting. ;) I'm looking forward to the next few chapters immensely.

I hope you all enjoy the chapter.

**Chapter Five;**

**Fetching Posies**

An abrupt silence came over the company. Gandalf stood slowly, his face suddenly serious, going to the round door and putting his hand on the latch. He gave an inspective look to the company of dwarves that had quietly gathered behind him, as though he was making sure that they were ready and presentable.

And then he opened the door.

On the threshold stood a dwarf. And not just _any_ dwarf: this was Thorin Oakenshield son of Thrain son of Thror, King Under the Mountain. His beard had been trimmed short, though his dark hair was long. He was regal. Tall for a dwarf, and proud. He had a bearing about him that impressed his presence upon all those around.

"Gandalf." He said with a small, wry smile as he stepped through the door and took off his cloak. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way – twice – wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for the mark on the door." He smiled in greeting to his nephews, who greeted him quietly and with obvious reverence for a much-loved uncle.

The Bilbo, in his bumbling ways, became indignant that someone would so much as _insinuate_ that his home was marred or imperfect in any way – mark on the door _indeed_! – and pushed forward through the circle of abruptly solemn dwarves to proclaim that—

"_Mark_? There is no _mark_ on that door: it was painted a week ago!"

What, had he not seen it? Was he blind? The mark practically _glowed_ in the moonlight. Maybe their host was some form of overgrown, human-bat...

"There is a mark," Gandalf interrupted hastily, closing the door so the Bilbo wouldn't see it. "I put it there myself. Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company – Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin stepped forward, his eyes assessing the Bilbo. Not with unkindness, but with a frank approach to whether or not he would be useful on the upcoming journey.

"So," he said. "This is the hobbit." He circled the halfling a few times. "Tell me, Mr. Baggins, have you done much fighting?" – to which question Bilbo's eyes went wide, as though he really _couldn't_ believe someone had just asked _him_ that – "Axe or sword as your weapon of choice?"

"Well," Bilbo lowered his voice in a naiveté attempt to sound more dangerous. "I have some skill at conkers, if you must know..." – and then he looked up and saw Thorin towering over him and looking at him with obvious amusement. And Bilbo realized then just how short he really was. He straightened and puffed out his chest (even though it really didn't help that much) and trailed off his sentence with a squeaky "...though I fail to see why that's relevant..."

Yes. Thorin was amused.

"I thought as much." He turned to the rest of the company and gave a dry smile. "He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." He started to walk into the kitchen, but his eyes fell on Lori. "And who are you?"

"Lori, sir. At yer service."

He smiled then, his eyes lightening in recognition of who she was – or, rather, who she had once been.

"No, it cannot be! You were only a little thing when last I saw you – barely higher than my knee!"

"Aye, sir." She smiled in return, though his eyes were suddenly far away – perhaps thinking back to the time when he had first happened upon her valiantly waging war against the air as a child, a stick as her only weapon, on a hillside not far from her father's workstation.

Then he remembered where he was and his eyes searched her face and he was serious again.

"Are you sure you wish to fight this battle with us, Lori? You have much to lose."

Her chin lifted and her arms crossed over her chest.

"Aye, but I have just as much to prove."

He scrutinized her face for a few more moments, then nodded.

"Very well. Any kin of Balin is welcome with us."

"We saved you some soup, Uncle," Kili murmured, and Thorin moved on into the kitchen.

The company was silent as Bofur reclaimed a bowl from Bilbo's mountain of dishes and ladled soup into it, then handed it to Thorin. They all gathered at the table once more, except this time Thorin sat at the head. Lori found herself squashed somewhere on the other end between Bombur and Ori. But even they were silent. The curious Ori had stopped voicing his questions and was simply peering around worriedly, if rather cluelessly, and Bombur had abandoned his great love of food for a simple mug of ale.

The antics were over and finished. The dwarves were far too anxious to hear the news to think of merrymaking now. They were just waiting for someone else to ask the question of Thorin.

And then, finally, as Thorin began to eat, Balin finally asked the question that was on all of their minds.

"What of the meeting at Ered Luin? Did they all come?"

"Aye. Envoys from all seven kingdoms."

Good tidings. Most of the dwarves cheered. There was hope.

"And what do the dwarves of the Iron Hills say?" Dwalin persisted seriously. "Is Dain with us?"

The excitement of the younger dwarves died down as soon as they saw the way that Thorin's expression closed off.

Perhaps it was not such good tidings after all.

"They will not come." Thorin said slowly, heavily. "They say this quest is ours and ours alone."

Silence came over the group again. A fog of contemplation and hopelessness and worry and depression and-

"You're going on a quest?"

Oh, for the love of Durin.

"Nay, Master Bilbo," Lori retorted sharply without thinking. "We are fetching posies for our mothers."

A look of afrontation came to the halfling's face and Lori was immediately sorry, though she hid it by taking a sip from her mug. She had no reason to feel ashamed of herself, she reasoned as Gandalf hastily interrupted Bilbo's questions to ask for a light. She had quite a right to snap, after such news as they had just received—

And what exactly had the Bilbo thought they were _doing_ in his hole in the ground? Swinging over from their neighboring mountain just to have a light afternoon tea?

The halfling was either a half-wit – which would have been appropriate, considering he was called a _halfling_ – or just hadn't been thinking clearly at all. Or he simply didn't make sense.

"Far to the East," Gandalf said, pulling a map from his cloak and laying it on the table and unfolding it, "over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, there lies a single solitary peak."

He was speaking of Erebor. Of their home. They could all sense it. And suddenly, it seemed as though everyone leaned forward with a collective breath and breathed with the same lungs because this was their _home_ and they longed to be where they belonged and they knew without Gandalf saying so that he was speaking of it, of their home—

And, if there was any doubt of what it was before, the Bilbo read it aloud over Gandalf's shoulder when he returned with a candle.

The Lonely Mountain.

Then Gloin piped up about portents and Oin being able to read – no, _Oin_ could read portents? He'd only been blathering about it _all night_ – and... "The portents say it's time!"

It was time.

"Ravens have been seen flying back to the mountain – as it was foretold!" Oin said, his volumous hair bobbing fiercely with each nod. "'When the birds of yore return to Erebor, the reign of the beast will end.'" He quoted.

And, of course, _that_ caught the attention of the Bilbo.

"Beast?" He asked, freezing in his steps. "What beast?"

"That would be in reference to Smaug the Terrible." Bofur piped up helpfully. "Greatest calamity of our Age."

And still the Bilbo looked rather blank. Lori exchanged looks with her father from down the table. Gandalf looked highly alarmed, with his eyes wide and mildly apprehensive. Thorin watched and listened, as was his way, as Bofur continued.

"Airborne fire-breather. Teeth like razors, claws like meat hooks... Extremely fond of precious metals—"

"Yes, I know what a dragon is." Bilbo cut in quickly before Bofur could get any further into description. Knowing Bofur, who loved a good story, he could have gone into the history of dragons and from whence had they come—

And then Ori stood up, jostling Lori into Bombur – and consequently, Bombur into Kili and Fili.

But Ori didn't notice.

"I'm not afraid!" He squeaked. "I'm up for it! I'll give him a taste of the wolfish iron right up his jacksie!"

There was a collective groan. It might have been from Kili and Fili nearly being pushed out of their seats by Bombur's weight, but it might also have been from embarrassment because Ori, bless his beard, had definitely not earned his braids yet, though he wore them anyway.

His brother Dori pulled him back down with a hiss of "Sit _down_!"

"The task would be difficult enough with an army behind us," Balin said once Ori had been pulled back into his seat. "But we number just fourteen – and not fourteen of the best. Nor brightest."

There was a commotion. Gloin, one of the most easily angered of the gathered company, called out a demand about _who_ was calling _who_ dim.

"We may be few in number," Fili interrupted loudly, his mustache braids waving in the air in a sage-like manner. "But we're fighters. All of us! To the last dwarf!"

"And you forget," Kili joined in eagerly, "that we have a _wizard_ in our company! Gandalf will have killed _hundreds_ of dragons in his time!"

Well, perhaps there was hope after all. Hundreds of dragons. That was hundreds of dragons worth of experience!

And the table erupted in noise again.

"Well, now," Gandalf put in hastily, "I wouldn't say _hundreds_..."

"How many then?"

"Eh? What?" Gandalf eyed the dwarf who had spoken – Dori – with a rather alarmed gaze.

"How many have ye killed?" There was an expectant silence. Gandalf conveniently chose that precise moment to choke on his pipe smoke. Dori jumped to his feet. "Go on, give us a number!" And there was commotion once again.

"ENOUGH!" Thorin roared, standing to his feet and towering over the company with all his height and majesty. The dwarves cut themselves off mid-sentence and sat back down quietly, feeling as though they should somehow be ashamed of themselves and their rowdy behavior as Thorin continued: "If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have read them too? Rumors have begun to spread – the dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look to the East, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the great wealth of our people now lies unprotected – do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours or do we take back Erebor?!"

The dwarves roared in agreement and there was hope again!—

"You forget that the front gate is sealed. There is no way into the mountain."

But, then again, perhaps there wasn't any hope after all—

"That, my dear Balin, is not entirely true..." Gandalf twirled a key around his fingers.

"How came you by this?" Thorin breathed, his eyes wide.

"It was given to me by your father – by Thrain – for safekeeping," Gandalf said as he handed it over. "It is yours now."

Thorin took it and turned it over in his hands and stared at it. Fili, in wonderment, said slowly (as it dawned on him, his braids waving in the air all the while) that if there was a key, there must be a door. Gandalf, to confirm what Fili had just discovered, said that the runes on the map spoke of another passage in the lower-way halls. Kili, translating into everyday speech for the very philosophical conversation that his brother and the wizard had just carried on – sarcastically speaking, of course – stated that there was another way in. And, in other words, there was hope again. And then Gandalf very abruptly announced that dwarven doors were invisible when closed.

In other words, the company was doomed before it had even started and, at this point, Lori nearly jumped to her feet and shouted for them to _make up their minds_ whether it could be done or not, by the beard of Mahal, and stop raising the hopes of others only to dash them to the ground—

And Gandalf then said: "The answer lies hidden somewhere in this map and I do not have the skills to find it. But there are others in Middle-Earth who can. The task I have in mind will require a great deal of stealth and no small amount of courage. But – if we are careful and clever – I believe that it can be done."

And Ori piped up again in his childish voice: "That's why we need a burglar!"

The Bilbo came up behind Thorin from where he'd been listening to the whole ordeal underneath the doorframe. "Hm," he said, hooking his thumbs around his suspenders. "And a good one too. An expert, I'd imagine."

"And... Are you?" Oin questioned suspiciously from where he sat clutching his hearing bugle.

Bilbo sniffed airily – and rather cluelessly – before realizing that Oin had, in fact, been talking to him.

"Am I what?"

A huge smile split across Ori's face.

"He said he's an expert! Hey hey!" Miniature rejoicing party. They had themselves an actual _expert_ burglar (even if he _did_ look like a grocer) and the mission could be accomplished and all was not lost—

"_Me_?" The Bilbo seemed to almost faint in shock at the idea. "Nononono – I've never stolen a thing in my life!"

"Then," Balin said. "I'd have to agree with Mr. Baggins; he's hardly burglar material."

And the Bilbo frantically nodded in agreement.

"Aye," Dwalin muttered, "the wild is no place for gentlefolk who can neither fight nor fend for themselves."

The Bilbo smiled and nodded some more, as if to say "Someone understands!"

Gandalf, seeming to take this as a threat to his wisdom, threw a storm and dark shadows stretched across the walls and the timbers creaked and by the beard of Mahal, they were all going to die!—

But no, Gandalf calmed down and listed the various options of why Bilbo would be a fantastic burglar – light on his feet, could avoid being detected if he so wished, not to mention that the dragon had never smelt a hobbit – and he then turned and appealed to Thorin on Bilbo's behalf, even though Bilbo looked as though he would quite like for Gandalf to _stop_ listing his attributes because he just wanted the dwarves _out_ of his house, _goodbye_ adventure—

At which point Lori, who had been quiet for what felt like a very long time, spoke up.

"That is all fine and well, Gandalf," she said quietly. "But does he even _want_ to be a burglar? Does he even _want_ to come?"

She had witnessed his little oddities and his obsession with his home. She could not fault him for it. She had seen dwarves obsessed with their crafts. She had felt the same concern and love for her weapons as the Bilbo felt for his mother's glory box and West Farthing pottery. But, having seen all of this, she did not believe that he would come. That he would want to give up everything he'd known.

It was simply not _like_ him.

And perhaps that was just as well. Perhaps it would save the halfling a lot of pain – or perhaps even his life – if he did not come.

Gandalf looked at her for a moment. Not angrily, that she had questioned his judgment, but in understanding. She was not undermining the Bilbo's character, though perhaps she had undermined his brain earlier (and still felt badly for it), but she was wondering whether the halfling would be loyal, if he were to come. If he came. If he even showed an interest in joining them.

_Did_ the halfling even want to come?

"You must trust my judgment, young Lori," Gandalf said finally.

She only bowed her head in deference and leaned back in her seat, raising her mug to her mouth once more. Gandalf looked back to Thorin.

"You _must_ trust me on this..." he said again, with emphasis.

They had to trust him. They all did.

And Thorin, hesitating a few moments, finally did.

"Very well," he replied. "We will do it your way. Give him a contract," he said to Balin, who immediately pulled one out and handed it to Bilbo.

"It's just the usual," he said briskly, "Deposit fees, pocket expenses, rooming arrangements, funeral arrangements, so forth."

"Funeral arrangements?" The Bilbo sputtered, and Lori could not help but laugh at yet another one of the oddities of the flustered creature.

"Aye, what did ye expect besides a funeral, Master Bilbo? Surely ye don't think we _eat_ our dead friends!"

Bilbo twisted his mouth in a way that told her that he did not _quite_ know what to say to that, leaving her with the distinct impression that he _had_, in fact, thought that they ate their dead companions.

She was not sure whether to be amused or indignant.

Before she could decide, Ori turned to her and smiled in the way that only Ori could – a hopeful, shy, naïveté smile that brightened his face and made the recipient feel rather guilty if they had pulled a prank or made a joke within the last hour. Which Lori had.

"Hello," he said. "I don't believe we've met."

It was so out of the blue that Lori had to smile and return the greeting, despite whatever foolish comments he had earlier spouted about shoving wolffish iron up a dragon's jacksie.

Bombur then started questioning her – in a friendly way, of course – on how her and her da were getting along and how was her mum and how long had their journey taken and—

"_Incineration_?"

At the Bilbo's squeak, conversation amongst the dwarves stopped and all eyes turned to him.

And Bofur decided to once again be helpful.

"Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye!"

Bilbo nearly dropped the contract. His eyelids fluttered and his breath started huffing a little uncomfortably—

"Ye alright, laddie?" Balin asked from behind Bofur.

The Bilbo was going pale. He bent and put his hands on his knees, then decided that wasn't helping either and stood back up.

"Yeah, I – I feel a bit faint..."

Bofur stood to his feet and continued talking.

"Think furnace... with wings!"

"I – I – I need some air!" The Bilbo squeaked, but Bofur paid him no heed.

"Flash of light – searing pain – then poof! You're nothing more than a pile of ash!"

The Bilbo straightened. Looked somewhere near the ceiling. Looked down again. Straightened some more. Waited a few seconds. Then—

"Nope!" He said, and flopped to the floor.

In their defense, the dwarves had never seen someone faint before.

"Is he dead? Is he mortally injured? _Is he dead_?"

Gandalf was harrumphing something terrible, as if he had suddenly been proven wrong about Bilbo – and perhaps he had been – and the dwarves were about to swarm Bilbo and carry him away to make funeral arrangements – "Do we bury him? We have no stones! Do we leave him here and set his house afire? Do we..." – when Gandalf finally reclaimed his voice and calmly instructed Bofur – and it had to be _Bofur_ and no one else "since you didn't have the sense to stop talking while he was still _conscious_!" – to carry him away from the bunch and set him in a cozy armchair near the fire. Oh, and set the kettle on to boil, would you? There's a good lad.

"Well," Lori said, pulling her own pipe out. "I'll hate to see what he does when he's confronted by the _real_ dragon!"


	6. Quiet

**A/N; **Next chapter we hit the road! I'm excited! And also, I will warn you: I'm perfectly aware that they reached Rivendell after, like, what - a month of traveling? Something like that. Anywho. I will be writing accordingly. Get prepared for some amusing segments. ;)

Thanks to everyone who's reviewed and followed and favorited the story so far. It really means a lot, guys :) so thank you!

Oh. And also, I'm sticking by my promise for a gradual romance. The scene with the fire is not a come-on or a "WE'RE-SUDDENLY-AND-RANDOMLY-IN-LOVE." just so you know. :)

Hope you enjoy the chapter!

**Chapter Six;**

**Quiet**

The dwarves were quiet after Bilbo's hysteric death-imitating feat, settling down to smoke silently in front of the fireplace in what Bilbo had called the sitting room or some such. Perhaps they were a bit concerned that if they so much as spoke too loudly, Gandalf's magical resurrection-of-Bilbo would reverse and they would find themselves with a dead burglar - again.

That is, if they _had_ a burglar at all.

"Do you think he'll come?" Ori asked Lori in a hushed whisper with a somewhat reverent glance towards the room where Bilbo was squeaking something about being a Baggins of Bag-End and not running off into the wild because he was respectable or some such.

Lori simply shook her head as a response, puffing absently on her pipe as she watched her father join Thorin in a dark corner away from the rest of the company.

"I hope he does," Ori murmured wistfully. "We need a good burglar..."

"I think he's better off here at home, Ori." Lori said quietly. "He doesn't know of the wild or hardships or struggling. He kenno' understand our longing to be home because he is already in his. And perhaps we do not need someone whose heart is not in this quest."

Ori said nothing to agree or disagree: he just sighed sadly and curled up in a chair that was too small for even him.

Lori looked to the other dwarrows around her. Bombur was still munching. Dori and Nori were arguing quietly. Bifur was staring dazedly at the fire, as he was apt to do. Bofur was inspecting his boots rather thoroughly, preparing for the journey ahead (even though the trip would be mostly made on horseback. He always said that it never hurt to be prepared.) Balin and Thorin had not yet returned. Gloin and Oin were silent. Fili and Kili, sitting on the hearth, were chuckling quietly at a private joke, pipes in hand. Just then, Kili turned back to face the rest of the company, and his eyes, gleaming in the firelight, landed on Lori almost immediately.

And he smiled.

She did not return it: she only stared at him for a startled moment before standing abruptly and leaving the room to fetch her weapons and make sure they were sharpened sufficiently.

She didn't see his smile falter and fail when she accidentally ignored him and perhaps she would have acted differently if she had. But she didn't and it was all quickly put to right when Fili turned back to Kili with another thought of the story they had just discussed. And in no time at all, the innocent and light-hearted grin was back on Kili's mouth.

She had just reached the entryway when Bilbo finished his discussion with Gandalf and walked out. She was picking up her weapons and drawing out her sword to inspect the edge when Bilbo passed her.

"No weapons in the house," he said absentmindedly, continuing on in his odd little quiet way, trying to make as little noise as possible so the dwarves would not notice him sneaking off because he still needed his "quiet time" with a cup of warm tea and a good book and-

Lori stared after him in surprise. If she did not know better, she would have said that he had sounded exactly like her mum, with the constant mantra about how the dwarves could be uncivilized outside and make war and such grand things, but she was the daughter of a jewelry crafter and by Durin's beard, they would be civilized in her house!-

But the way Bilbo had spoken. Like he had already acclimated. Like he already knew what to say to the dwarves (though he really didn't) to get them to mind their manners and P's and Q's and all other such nonsense.

Lori blinked and thought to herself that she must have been daydreaming or bewitched because - the very thought of that odd little creature reminding her of her sensible, earthy, homey, sturdy mother! Why, the idea itself was laughable at best.

Thorin had joined the company when she returned. He was standing by the mantle and speaking with Fili and Kili. They had asked him what Erebor was like, their faces lit up with youthful curiosity.

Thorin's eyes grew distant when he described the vastness of Erebor and of the craftsmanship and of the great halls and of the gold and silver and jewels-

He blinked at the end, coming back to the hobbit hole in a place called the Shire: a place very, very, very far from the Lonely Mountain and the forgotten and abandoned kingdom that lay inside it.

"It's home." He said finally, and that was perhaps the best description he could have given for it.

The dwarves had stopped talking amongst themselves to listen to their King speak of their home. And then, without discussion or agreement or designation, they began the song that had become the anthem of their lost and wandering people.

It was Bofur that started humming first, but before long they had all joined in and they were all carried far, far, far away by the words and their longing alike. To their home.

_Far over the Misty Mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To find our long forgotten gold._

_The lines were roaring on the height_

_The winds were mourning in the night_

_The fire was red: it flaming spread _

_The trees like torches blazed with light..._

There were many other verses that followed the first, but there was only one collective thought behind all of the words: home. Home. Home.

It had been written by Thror's bard just after the Erebor refugees had settled into the Iron Hills. He had died not long after, but the song he had written became the key thought of the dwarves that had survived the dragon's attack. Because maybe, possibly, someday - they would regain their home. They would win it back. They would see it again.

Someday.

When the words died away and the company was transported back from the great halls consumed by the dragon's fire, they were silent. A few reluctantly went off to find beds because they knew it would be an early start the next day. But the rest stayed and smoked on their pipes and stared into the fire, occasionally speaking and sharing stories, but mostly just thinking of home.

They had longed for it for so many years. The younglings had been brought up to long after Erebor and its riches as well. And now they were on the verge and they were so close, so close.

But their kin had deserted them. Dain Ironfoot had decided to not aid their quest. And amongst dwarves, who prize loyalty above most other traits, this felt like betrayal of the worst kind.

So they would go alone then. They would find a way. They had to: they had to! It was their home and they had decided long, long ago to fight for that home.

So they eventually went to bed and a few simply lay down in front of the dying fire.

It would be time to start in the morning and they had waited for this for so, so long.

They were ready to return home again.


	7. The Joining of a Burglar

**A/N: **I have recently realized that I detest long author notes now, so I will try to keep mine short from here on out. A huge shoutout to all of the reviewers! You guys are awesome and I LOVE hearing back from you about your opinion of the chapter. Please, keep them up! I hope y'all enjoy the chapter.

**Chapter Seven;**

**The Joining of a Burglar**

The sun rose slowly and so did the dwarves. By the time the entire company was awake, someone had managed to scrounge together a small breakfast. No one was quite sure how, as there hadn't seemed to be much food left over from the night before. But apparently there had been enough for a breakfast, and no one complained. Dwarves knew the value of good food and never questioned where it came from. (Unless it wasn't particularly _good_.)

Somehow, they managed to leave without waking Bilbo. It was odd to inspect weapons in the kitchen without him squeaking something about how you could chip his pottery and no weapons in the kitchen – wait! – no, you can't have your weapons in the parlor either – _no, I meant_ – just NO WEAPONS IN THE HOUSE! What? No! – don't do it in the garden either!—

The dwarves weren't particularly sure whether they were sad that they couldn't thank Bilbo for his attempts (or lack of) at hospitality, as was custom, or if they were happy that he couldn't demand they not sharpen their knives in the drawing room.

Either way.

They left at dawn. And none of them stopped Balin from laying the contract where Bilbo would easily be able to find it. Perhaps because they wanted to think that their quest was not completely hopeless and maybe someone, however ridiculous he was, would want to join them.

They trooped down the road on foot until they came to the small green meadow where they had quartered the ponies.

And then there was silence as they rode through the woods on the dusty road.

Then: "Do you think he'll come?"

A sigh from Lori.

"Nay, Ori," she said wearily, having heard this question five times before they left. "I do nae. In fact, I'd go so far as tae betcha—"

There was almost nothing that dwarves loved more than a good bet. Wagers started flying thick and fast and there was nothing to do except join in or ignore.

Gandalf whipped out his pipe only a few minutes later and there emerged a few badly contained chortles coming from somewhere down the line of ponies. He filled his pipe with weed and tamped it down, then lit it and puffed a few clouds.

And he abruptly started coughing.

You don't get to watch a wizard go red in the face like a lovestruck tween every day. But when Lori turned to see the goings-on, her eyes met the dark gaze of Kili once again. This time, unlike the night before in front of the fire, he didn't smile.

She was still the first to look away.

Apparently, Fili and Kili had filched Gandalf's pipe while he was sleeping and sneaked in a trace of a herb that was harmless, but strong. Gandalf's eyes started twinkling.

There would be payback most devious.

But before Kili and Fili could even begin to contemplate the horrors that may or may not have been lying ahead of them, there was a cry of "Wait!" and Bilbo came huffing and puffing and wheezing to thrust the contract into Balin's fingers, exclaiming proudly that he'd signed it.

Lori almost told him that neatly everyone could sign their name and there was nothing to be particularly proud of, but as Bilbo was not entirely acclimated to her yet, his tender nerves might be permanently damaged by her sarcasm. And you never did know if he was about to pull a fainting fit—

Either way, Lori had just lost money.

Grumbling something about injustice and the unfairities of betting against a wizard – he was a _wizard_: he could probably read Bilbo's mind to tell if he was coming or not or see the future or some such – Lori tossed her promised bag to Oin, who was still convinced that Bilbo was a master burglar.

You had to say things very specifically when Oin was around or else he really wouldn't pay attention to you.

At least it had finally paid off in his favor.

Bilbo was mounted on a pony and joined the line of nomads, all while babbling nervously about walking holidays and villages named after frogs. Once he had gotten seated on his pony, it became quite obvious that if he had sat in a saddle before, it had not been to his liking. In fact, he was so ill-accustomed to the saddle that it seemed probable that he'd never even ridden a pony.

Then, on top of it all, he sneezed. And promptly started digging through his pockets, muttering something about horse hair and "reactions," although not a single one of the dwarves had any idea what a _reaction_ might entail, although a few shifted nervously on their ponies at the thought of Bilbo having another dying fit.

Suddenly, the word _reaction_ became quite ominous.

"Where is it – no – wait – STOP! We have to turn around!"

What?

"I forgot me handkerchief!"

By Mahal's beard.

This was going to be a very interesting adventure.

**...**

**Preview of next week**: Where Gandalf gets his revenge, Bilbo inadvertently insults Lori (and discovers that dwarves are very, _very_ different from hobbits.)


	8. Burns & Saddle Sores

**A/N: **Hola! So one of the anonymous reviewers left a very interesting remark. She said that Lori wasn't very like able and she suspected that this was on purpose. I figured I might as well reply to it here do that people understand why.

Yes. Lori isn't exactly charming. She's rough, sarcastic, and a little rough on poor Bilbo (who, let's admit, is adorable.) She's not the ideal heroine. But that's just my point.

I confess that, yes, it's intentional that Lori isn't the best girl out there. Because I'm not. No one is. Everyone has a few faults. And it's just not realistic for me to write a story where the girl is good and sweet and flirty.

Lori hasn't learned to accept strangers. She doesn't trust Bilbo because she thinks he's too weak. And sometimes, like you'll see in this chapter, she gets over that for a few seconds and sympathizes with Bilbo, because she still remembers what being clueless felt like. She's been trained her whole life to be strong - even gone so far as to train herself - and she's confronted by a creature unlike any she's ever met before, who seems to only be weak and helpless and squeaks a lot. What would your reaction be?

If you like Lori as an OC, that's awesome! But I just wanted to covey the idea that she's just NOT like the other OCs in this category, who are soft and sweet and smile at Kili because he's so fudging cute. Lori doesn't even know how to act around Kili, for reasons that will be disclosed at a later time.

Apologies for leaving such a long Authors Note. And if I seem like I'm biting this reviewer's head off, I'm sorry! I really actually loved your review, because it gave me a chance to understand what the readers are thinking and explain all of this just a little bit! And I do really mean that. I absolutely adored that review, because it gave me something to think about, explain, and improve. :) I just wanted to let y'all know that everything is for a reason that will be explained eventually. :)

I hope you guys continue to stick around, regardless of how much you understand Lori. She will change and become more likeable over time. But like I always say, most change is gradual, just like feelings.

(Oh. And I decided that there was no way they got out of the Shire so quickly that Bilbo was uncomfortable on the first night, so I'm not counting the Orc-scare by Fili and Kili as the first night. I know that most people do, but I just don't think it would be the very first night. Anywho.)

I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. :)

**Chapter Eight:**

**Burns & Saddle Sores **

The ponies plodded on and on and on. The sun climbed the sky and then fell softly into the earth, the trees hiding the slow onslaught of the sunset but for a few small flints of golden that crawled their way onto the green leaves of the woods and nestled there, safe and secure. And it was at this time that Thorin called an end to the day of plodding. That night, like many others after it, was quiet.

Kili and Fili constantly shot suspicious glances towards Gandalf, who puffed away on his pipe innocently, staring into the fire with all the ambiguity and wisdom of a tattered old rock. He was, unfortunately, a wizard: such traits came easily to him, it seemed. But every now and then, a mischievous gleam would come into his eye before it quickly vanished, only to reemerge whenever Fili checked his precious beard to ascertain that it was still there or whenever Kili made sure his delicious dinner – prepared by the ever willing Bombur, of course – had not turned into toads and caused him terrible indigestion.

But nothing too eventful happened. Bofur was given first watch and, slowly and inevitably, the dwarves wrapped themselves in their cloaks and lay down to sleep.

But nobody was completely safe. Ever. Not even when they were innocuously snoring with their noses to the sky.

Kili and Fili found this out very quickly when they awoke to magical firework butterflies puttering around their noses, singeing their hair, and delicately fluttering dangerously low around their midsections to the immense panic of the two brothers.

Needless to say, their hollering woke the entire company of dwarves and their esteemed friend the hobbit.

And Gandalf was laughing his pointy hat off the entire time. Thorin said nothing, only coughed a few times. It might have been from the smoke of the fire, or it might have been disguised amusement at the demise of his nephews. Either way, his face gave nothing away.

Bilbo watched the butterflies in wonder. Perhaps he had forgotten how truly wonderful Gandalf's fireworks are. But then again, he had forgotten a good many things about Gandalf in his attempt to grow up and become respectable.

Lori, on the other hand, had never seen fireworks. She barely even knew what they were. But she did know that the sight in front of her was amusing, and that most of the other dwarves were chortling. Bofur chuckled something about how that just proved you should never stick something foul in a wizard's pipe.

After a few minutes of mischief, the butterflies drifted away into the air and vanished, their vengeful work accomplished. Fili and Kili sported a few minor scorches, but nothing too terribly awful or life-threatening. You wouldn't have known _that_ by their whining, though. They acted as though they'd just had their limbs chopped off.

And so, with a few more disgruntled grumbles from the dwarves about losing sleep (even though most of them really hadn't fallen asleep yet) and a few more complaints from Fili and Kili, the company settled back into their cloaks and drifted off to dreams of home.

**...**

Morning came quickly, or so it seemed. A little too quickly for Bilbo, who groaned with torture at every single movement he made.

"A wee bit saddle sore, laddie?" Balin chuckled on his way past Bilbo's cloak to get his breakfast.

Bilbo merely grunted in pain and gave up on the thought of breakfast. The food was too far away, and he'd rather be hungry than groaning with the agony of—

A wooden bowl appeared in front of his face, laden down by the goodness of Bombur's food.

Bilbo, surprised, glanced up to see Lori in front of him, handing him the dish.

She only offered an unreadable smile and an ambiguous "I kno' how it feels," before turning and eating her own food while simultaneously preparing for the day ahead.

Bilbo nearly asked one of the dwarves to taste the food first, in case it was poisoned, but he shook off the notion quickly. He was quite aware that they – the loud, stomping, slurping, hairy, belching, snoring _dwarves_ he had joined on a quest – all saw him as quite odd. And sometimes he wondered if they ever saw themselves through his eyes. But either way, if he asked to have someone check his food, they'd laugh at him and ask him if he'd been King of the Shire or some such, to expect someone to taste his food for him. The very idea!

They'd probably eat it all in one "taste" anyway. And hobbits never, _ever_ wasted good food.

So Bilbo ate it, all the while wondering at the bipolar tendencies of dwarves and whether or not they could be trusted or—

"Saddle up, Master Boggins!" Kili said, thumping him enthusiastically on the back as he passed, leaving Bilbo yelping in agony in his wake.

Dwarves were so _oblivious_. Confusticated—!

Bilbo was the second to last saddled. Bofur was the last only because he'd had to boost Bilbo up into the saddle, as Bilbo's aching muscles couldn't stand the strain of hoisting him up. (He started insisting rather insistently again that he "quite enjoyed walking holidays...")

The day passed quite slowly. Lori was discussing the various abilities and swings of a war hammer with her Uncle Dwalin when she heard her father's voice calling her.

"Lassie! Lassie!"

She reigned in her pony and dropped back down the single-file line of ponies to where Balin was talking to Fili and Kili about the various differences between a throwing knife and a long knife, with Bilbo inadvertently listening in from in front of them.

"Toss me yer knives for a moment, lassie."

"Which ones?"

"The throwing and the long."

Lori pulled them out of their sheaths from beside their twins and handed them over casually, glancing over at Fili's whistle to find Kili's dark eyes looking at her once more.

She really wasn't quite sure why he was staring at her – or why he kept staring at her – but she _did_ wish—

They were all cut off by Bilbo's squeak.

"What – wait – what – _lassie_ – you mean, you're a _girl_?"

**Preview of next week: **Bilbo learns about the customs and practices of dwarves. And Kili and Fili try their second prank of the journey.


	9. Lessons

**Chapter Nine:**

**Lessons**

If Lori was being quite honest, she was quite taken aback by Bilbo's astonishment. Well, _of course _she was a _girl_. What did he _think_ she was, one of his dainty little hobbit lassies with ribbons in their hair (and odd little – or, rather, big – feet) that happened to squeak when she spoke?

She proceeded to tell him just what _she_ thought of _him_ and his insulting confusion – and exactly what she thought _he_ was – but his bewilderment only seemed to increase with every single word.

He literally couldn't understand a single thing she was saying. And he wasn't sure if it was because of the brogue – which apparently worsened when she was flustered or angry or whatever she was – or because she was speaking in another tongue altogether.

Although he did catch one word in the midst of the jumble barraging his ears: squeaking.

"Wait – squeaks – _who_ squeaks?"

Lori huffed and sent him an exasperated look.

"Is that really all ye got of that entire yarn?"

Bilbo pursed his lips and tried to think. There had to be another one that he'd caught. At least _one_ other word. So he didn't look absolutely ridiculous.

Nope. Nothing.

"Yeah." Bilbo said finally. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

She rolled her eyes exaggeratedly and her father chuckled something about please do _try_ to not kill him.

"Bilbo." Lori said after a minute of quiet – and sarcastic – grumbling. "What qualities do yer people prize?"

"Er... Well..." Bilbo pursed his lips thoughtfully again, but this time he had an answer. "Merriment and food, I guess. The happier a hobbit, the better. Gardening, dancing, and cooking are all rather important to us, I daresay."

"For dwarves, it's strength, endurance, and experience. And beards. Ye do not have one?"

"Er, well," Bilbo shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, not entirely sure that he liked where this conversation was leading. "No, hobbits don't have beards."

"Dwarves do. _All_ dwarves do."

Bilbo opened his mouth to say something about how Kili didn't technically have a beard so much as scruff, but Lori cut him off before he could put himself in even more dangerous territory.

"My clan is born with our beards, Master Bilbo. To us, it's a sign of strength. The neck is the most vulnerable part of the body. Our beards hide, and therefore protect, our necks. If a dwarf can't grow a beard, well, he isn't much of a dwarf after all, then, is he? Or _she_." She cast her gaze over towards him and smiled.

If a dwarf didn't have a beard, s/he wasn't strong.

Bilbo had the strangest notion that the laughing glint in Lori's eyes was because she had just called him weak.

And slightly female.

He decided it was okay, though. After all, he _had_ just insulted her by thinking she was a male, of all things.

"And the braids?" He asked, looking to where Fili was casually tugging on one of his own beard-twines while listening to the conversation. Bilbo didn't fail to notice that Kili had his head down and was inspecting the knife that Balin had handed him with great (and perhaps slightly feigned) interest.

"There are many different types of braids and different meanings. There are occupational braids and courting braids and matrimonial braids and ceremonial braids—"

"Yes, alright, I get it."

Perhaps Lori hadn't given Bilbo enough credit. He was becoming rather alarmingly feisty as he became more and more comfortable with the dwarves.

"But you don't have any." Bilbo pipes up again. "Braids, I mean."

"Aye, well. I am not betrothed, I am not experienced in battle, and I have not proven myself worthy of any distinguishing braids yet."

"Why would you _braid hair_ as a show of affection?"

Bilbo was really too inquisitive for his own good: he asked far too many questions.

"Because, Master Bilbo, the hair is the most vulnerable part of a dwarf. To put that in the hands of someone else is the ultimate sign of trust for us. They could easily kill us in any number of ways while braiding our hair. Stabbing, strangling—"

"Yes, yes."

Bilbo, it seemed, had stopped being quite so cautious around Lori. She couldn't decide if she found it bewildering –_ no one_ took to her particularly quickly – or amusing that he didn't find her intimidating anymore.

And all because she had handed him a bowl of breakfast and not killed him when he asked if she was a boy.

"And what are ye, Bilbo?" She asked suddenly, a grin lighting up her face.

"Ahem – excuse me – what?" Bilbo became rather flustered again very quickly.

"Are ye he or she? Ye _do_ squeak an awful lot." Lori explained, trying to contain her laughter. "And those wee little wavy curls, why, ye could easily be mistaken for a gir—"

"I _am_ a he, thank you." Bilbo cut her off hurriedly.

"Just making sure. Ye _would_ make a bonnie lass—"

Ah, payback was sweet.

**...**

Oddly enough, Bilbo and Lori were alright with each other after that. They were not necessarily friends, but Bilbo seemed to realize that Lori – while she might have some contempt for him about the whole no-beard thing and the fact that he really couldn't wield a weapon properly – didn't really mean any harm. She was just a little abrupt and brusque and a tiny bit rude to people she just wasn't sure about.

Kili, for example.

Bilbo was small and a little bit daft to the ways of the world, but he somewhat understood (in his own bumbling way) the workings of the sentient mind. And he was slightly observant, which didn't help things at all.

So when Kili was helping Bombur dish out supper that night – since Bombur was "tasting _just_ a _little bit_ more to make sure it was suitable" and wasn't really concentrating on actually ladling the food into the bowls – and when Kili handed Lori's back to her, she mumbled a thanks rather unhospitably.

Kili noticed, by the slight flinch of his eyes, but he continued ladling like he hadn't a care in the world.

Bilbo sat next to Lori as she started eating and there was silence for a few minutes until, with a glance astound to make sure no one else could hear him, Bilbo spoke.

"Why do you dislike Kili?"

The question evidently started Lori: she nearly upended her bowl into the dirt with her surprise.

"What'd ye mean?"

"You're... I dunno, _mean_ to him. And he doesn't squeak, does he?"

It was becoming something like a running joke, the squeaking thing.

"I don't dislike him." Lori said after a few moments of quiet. "I just don't trust him, that's all."

"Well, why not?"

"Yer a very inquisitive hobbit, Master Baggins, and one day it'll get ye in trouble."

"It has already. Many times. When I was a lad. But why?"

"Why what?"

"Why don't you trust Kili?"

"There were rumors about him. Rumors about him and his mother." She shot a glance towards Bilbo and shrugged. "He's not like us."

And that was all she would say on the matter. So Bilbo laid down to sleep somewhere nearby, thinking to himself that perhaps she didn't _really_ hate him.

Well, definitely not enough to poison his food anyway which, all things considered, probably wasn't such a promising relationship.

He couldn't sleep though. What with the snoring from Bombur's side of the camp (and his obnoxious inhaling and exhaling of fluttering moths), Bilbo found himself rather restless, so he got up to sneak Myrtle – who really wasn't so bad either once you got used to her – an apple.

"There's a good girl – our little secret – you must tell no one – _sh-sh_."

Gandalf was smoking on his pipe once again calmly, but this time Fili and Kili were on watch. They kept casting their eyes over to him cautiously and whispering about whether or not they were in the clear.

And then, suddenly, out of the darkness of night, with the moon shining brightly down on them, there sounded in the distance a call: a cross between a shriek and a yell, it was guttural and threatening and sounded to Bilbo like it was potentially quite dangerous. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he blinked rapidly.

"What was that?" He asked quietly but frantically, turning to look at Lori and Gandalf both. But Gandalf provided no answer and Lori had moved to sit with Fili and Kili.

"Orcs." Kili said, his face going still and serious.

"Orcs?!"

It was Fili's turn. He didn't disappoint.

"Throat-cutters," he said, just in case Bilbo didn't know. "There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them."

"They strike in the wee small hours of the night when everyone's asleep, quick and quiet, no screams – just lots of blood." Kili's haunted face soon cracked as he looked to his brother and shared a small chuckle at the joke they had played at the expense of their innocent "Mister Boggins!"

But Thorin, who had startled awake from an uneasy sleep, was not amused and their faces quickly fell when he roughly demanded if they truly thought it was worthy of a joke. And when Kili offered "We meant nothing by it," as an explanation, disappointment flickered in Thorin's eyes.

"You know nothing of the world," he snarled, stalking away to stare at the landscape spread before them in an attempt to clear his mind of the images from his short but vivid dream – images that had all too much to do with blood, loss, sorrow, anguish, and all at the hands of _Orcs_.

And his nephews thought it was all a joke.

But Balin, the most compassionate and understanding of the company, started to explain and to comfort the nephews with a story that they had heard murmurs of before, but never in detail. And so Balin cast a tale of woe and strife and pain and courage and leadership and Thorin defending himself from the fiercest of Orcs with nothing but a very sturdy branch.

And everyone, even the moth-snorting Bombur, woke up and stood. To honor, to show deference to, and in awe of Thorin.

King Under the Mountain by right and regal by nature, with a fierce heart and a mind loyal and dedicated to the well-being of his people. Mistrustful, yes. Judgmental, yes. But these were traits that had kept him alive through the years of hardship and bitterness that he had faced after – and even before – he had been cast from his home.

It was after this, when everyone else had settled back into their cloaks and gone back to the shores of slumber, that Bilbo whispered a question to Gandalf that sounded something like: "Wait – does that mean - Thorin was _named_ Oakenshield because of a battle?"

Gandalf came very close to snorting a few moths himself.

"Yes, Bilbo Baggins, it does. And I _do_ hope you didn't think it meant that his mother had an inclination to name him after a shield made of _wood_."

Lori looked over to Fili – who, she had learned wasn't really all that bad (even if he _did_ wink a lot) – and grinned and whispered: "I do hope he doesn't go up to Smaug and ask him why his mother gave him such an unthreatening name."

Fili smiled and his dimples creased.

"Or tell him that we want to kill him for revenge."

"Let's just hope he doesn't talk to Smaug at all." Lori said and Fili quietly agreed with another easy grin.

He was not so upset by his uncle's reaction: he was a few years older than Kili and had the braids to prove it. He was more at ease, as he had already proved himself, and didn't take abrasion to heart very often.

But Kili, on the other hand, barely looked up from his boots for the rest of the night.

**A/N: **Yes, there was a book reference to the dialogue with Smaug there at the end. ;)

Also. Yes. Lori has a beard. And before you get disgusted and stop reading this, I'd like to explain very quickly: I felt that it wouldn't be right if I made her "hairless" and not have a beard. Tolkien created this culture – I didn't. So for me to twist his creation and make it suit my own purposes is completely... Just, no. Also, dwarves who don't have beards are considered to be ugly. And Lori (while she is not perfect) is pretty by DWARVEN standards, not by ours. We are humans. They are dwarves. Just because it's our culture that women should not, will not, DO NOT have beards doesn't mean that we have the right to warp Tolkien's invented race to suit our own definition of loveliness.

And to give you hope for the future: her beard WILL come off. In a very satisfying way that will be beneficial to the story. :) her beard DOES have a purpose.

So, if some of the readers are off-put by the fact that she has a beard, I will understand and I won't hold grudges or anything like that. But I'd just like to point out that if you have a problem with dwarven culture and the customs, then you _probably_ shouldn't be reading fan fiction about dwarves. ;) hahaha.

I'm asking you guys to keep an open mind. Please?

Also. I'm trying to update only once a week because of the fact that this is based on the movie-verse and the next movie isn't coming out for another six months. So, since I'm generally a rather detailed writer, I'm trying to really delve into the characters and what makes them tick rather than rush through the movie and then guess at what the brilliant PJ's going to do next.

And a reply to my guest reviewer **Guest Charlie:** No, dear, I wasn't replying to you at all! :) I did actually intend to, but with that other anonymous review, it just kind of slipped my mind. And your being a fan definitely makes up for any trouble you have reading the brogue. :) (That's partly my fault, since I'm TERRIBLE at writing Scottish accents lol.)

I feel like I'm always biting you guys' heads off, and I really don't mean to. I'm just a horrible perfectionist about my writing and I tend to get overly zealous when I explain something. It generally comes off as me being abrasive :( and for that, I'm really sorry!

But anyways. I hope y'all enjoyed and I hope that you stick around regardless of the beard. :)


	10. The Wrong Wizard

**A/N:** So it's been a while, yeah? In case you don't remember what's been happening, Bilbo thought Lori was a manly dwarf because she had a beard (yes, she still has a beard) and Lori told Bilbo that she didn't like Kili simply because "there were rumors" and "he's different." Just so you remember. :)

And also, for those of you who are reading my Star Trek (Khan/OC, "The Rebellious Ones") an update for that is coming soon as well. :)

I loved hearing your response to the last chapter, where I revealed that Lori has a beard. I was expecting a lot of criticism, but it was like, the exact opposite and I was really, really, really blown away by it all. So thank you guys, so much! :)

I hope you enjoy the chapter.

**Chapter Ten:**

**The Wrong Wizard**

The days that followed were quiet and uneventful, with the exceptions of a few pranks pulled by Fili and Kili. It might be worth mentioning that they didn't even look at Gandalf for weeks without checking the air for a few lingering fireworks that might spontaneously attack them out of the blue.

The company had only been on the road for a few days when the rain started and never stopped. The dwarves, preferring the underground, didn't really enjoy being wet. Ever. Period. The end. So of course they complained, but their whinings and grumblings only seemed to make the rain fall harder. Because when it rained, it _rained_. Really rained. Not a drizzle, not a sprinkle: a completely soaking downpour of a rain.

They grumbled a bit, but bore it in silence for the most part. And on the second day, after they'd had to sleep in the mud and eat a soggy, cold breakfast, Dori finally piped up.

"Mister Gandalf. Couldn't you do something about this deluge?"

"It is raining, Master Dori: and it will continue to rain until the rain is done." He then promptly (and rather ominously) suggested that they "find another wizard if they so wished to change the weather patterns of the world," or some such nonsense.

Well, that was entirely philosophical of him. But of course, what else could they expect out of an old, greying wizard who carried a tall stick with him wherever he went? Philosophy was the logical choice. But "the rain will continue to rain until it is done"?

You _never_ would have guessed otherwise.

Dori grumbled a bit more from underneath his sopping, dripping cloak, resigning himself to (what seemed to be) an eternally damp future. Bilbo, however, eternally curious no matter the state of the weather, asked: "Are there any more?"

There wasn't much widely known information about the Istari, the wizards that had sworn to protect Middle-Earth from any major calamities that they could possibly prevent. And so when Gandalf started listing off the different wizards, Bilbo perked up and there was a low grumble from Nori's general vicinity, as he obviously didn't care very much and was willing to make it known.

Bilbo didn't even notice, bless his pointy little ears.

Fili muttered something about needing oil and blasted weapons getting soaked. Ori was happily jotting down notes in his little journal, trying to shield the pages from getting overly wet with his hand (which was rather pointless, since his hand was dripping so quickly, it looked like a stream). And the other dwarves were silent and miserable, so the conversation between Bilbo and Gandalf could be heard quite clearly.

"—And is he a great wizard, or is he... more like you?"

Lori ducked her head further down under her hood to hide a smile. Bilbo might have been useless, but he was becoming alarmingly feisty, and at least it was entertaining to watch Gandalf attempt to pretend that he hadn't noticed the not-so-subtle insult.

Well, served the old codger right, especially if he wasn't willing to spare them a little rain.

Gandalf muttered something about how he thought Radaghast was a very great wizard – in his own way – which, of course, could have meant anything at all.

"And these other six," Lori piped up after a moment, "would one of them have stopped the rain?"

Gandalf thought for a moment.

"Well, yes." He finally answered. "I believe that one of the brothers might have."

"That's it, lads," Lori announced decisively. "We picked the wrong wizard."

"Now, now, young Lori—" Gandalf launched on another spiel about the weather having its course on the world and seeing the grander picture rather than just peering out from underneath your own sopping hood—"

"Yes," Lori said when he was done (or maybe just pausing for a much-needed breath). "But I think I'd see the grander picture much better if I was looking at it from under a _dry_ hood."

There was a reason that the stubbornness of dwarves was legendary. And maybe Bilbo's feistiness was slightly contagious.

Either way, the dwarves (that were actually still listening) grumbled in agreement and Gandalf harrumphed, his lip twitching slightly (which seemed to be his version of a mildly amused eye roll.)

**...**

When they stopped for the night, it had ceased raining, but no one was overly hopeful that it would last. They were quiet, eating quickly and glancing fervently at the sky a few times. Finally, Thorin rose to his feet.

"Two to a watch tonight. This area is known to be inhabited by goblins. Balin and Nori, first watch. Kili and Lori, take the second. Dwalin and Dori, third. Fili and I will take the fourth."

Kriff.

Somehow, Bilbo caught Lori's eye and gave her a look that somehow meant that if she wasn't nice and friendly and full of butterflies and sunflowers, he would make sure she suffered.

Which didn't really make much sense, since she could wield a blade and the odd little beardless babely hobbit couldn't, but Bilbo's warning staredown didn't seem to take that into account. Or, for that matter, the fact that she was a dwarf and she wasn't _supposed_ to be filled with ridiculous and useless things like sunflowers.

With a huff and a narrowing of her eyes in return, she turned around to settle into her cloak to sleep until it was her turn on watch, only to meet the gaze of a rather unhairy dwarf who looked decidedly uncertain and certainly apprehensive.

Lori remembered Bilbo's glare with another small huff of something akin to resigned irritation and lay down on her cloak and closed her eyes, choosing to ignore the strange dwarf lying somewhere behind her for as long as she could.

It was going to be an interesting night, that was for sure.


End file.
